After that, Santoryu carefully removed the bandages wrapped around his body. Thanks to the skilled medical-nin who had treated him, the wounds had completely healed, leaving only faint traces of bruising.
Without wasting time, he made his way to the bath his mother had prepared. The hot water soothed his muscles and cleared his mind, washing away the last remnants of pain and weakness. After drying off and getting dressed, he headed to the dining room.
When he arrived, he saw that the food had already been neatly arranged on the table. Without saying much, Santoryu sat down and began eating. His mother sat beside him the entire time, quietly watching with a gentle expression, her presence warm and comforting.
Just as he finished the last bite, the front door opened, and his father stepped inside.
Santoryu turned to look at him. Like his son, the man had striking white hair and a calm, composed demeanor. Middle-aged and broad-shouldered, he carried the appearance of a man accustomed to labor and responsibility.
His mother stood and asked anxiously, "What happened? Did that boy get the punishment he deserved?"
Santoryu's father let out a tired sigh and shook his head. "No. The teacher claimed that Santoryu threw the first punch. He said the other boy only retaliated… and that Santoryu's defeat was due to his own lack of ability. Because of that, they didn't issue any real punishment. The teacher just gave him a light scolding in front of me—nothing more."
A flash of anger passed over his mother's face. "That's ridiculous. Did you tell the teacher this was completely unfair? How can he be so blatantly biased? It's clearly favoritism!"
Her voice trembled with frustration and worry.
Santoryu watched them silently, his hands resting on the empty bowl in front of him. A quiet determination began to burn in his chest.
They can underestimate me now… but not for long.
Santoryu's father shook his head and said with a sigh, "I tried my best… but it was no use. After all, I'm just an ordinary civilian."
Before his mother could respond, Santoryu spoke up calmly, "There's no need to worry, Mother. It's not surprising, really. The boy who beat me… he's considered one of the most talented prodigies in the academy. At the rate he's progressing, it's almost guaranteed that he'll become a Jōnin in the future. How could a mere academy instructor dare to offend someone with that kind of potential?"
His father turned to him sharply. "If you knew that, why didn't you think before picking a fight with him? Why provoke someone so far above your level?"
Santoryu met his gaze steadily. "No one told me to argue with him. But I have my pride. He wasn't just mocking me—he was trampling on my dignity, on all the effort I've poured into becoming a ninja. I stood up for myself. I did what I thought was right."
His father fell silent. He looked at his son for a long moment, and though his face remained stern, something softened in his eyes. He had witnessed firsthand how hard his son had worked—how much he had endured.
And for that, he said nothing more.
Santoryu's father took a deep breath and said firmly, "Alright. At least now you understand. You can't become a ninja. Starting tomorrow, you'll come with me to the fields. It's time you learned more about farming and how we make our living."
Santoryu nodded slightly, but then straightened his back and looked his father in the eye. "You're right, Father. Getting kicked out of the Ninja Academy made one thing very clear—I don't have the talent to become a traditional ninja. I can't use ninjutsu, and chasing that path blindly was a mistake. But that doesn't mean I'm giving up on my dream of becoming strong."
He clenched his fists, eyes burning with resolve.
"If I can't master ninjutsu, then I'll walk another path. If ordinary ninja use one sword, then I'll use two… no, three swords. I'll forge my own strength. I won't give up."
His voice rang with determination, and for a moment, the room fell into a heavy silence.
Santoryu's father, who had always supported his son through every failure, looked at him long and hard. Deep down, he wanted to believe in him again—he wanted to support that burning passion. But fear took hold. Fear that this path would only bring more disappointment, more pain. That it might break his son for good.
He shook his head and spoke coldly. "No. I gave you every chance. You've been hurt enough. This is the end of it. You'll come with me to the fields from tomorrow. That's final."
Santoryu locked eyes with his father. Without hesitation, he dropped to his knees and performed a deep dogeza—his forehead pressed firmly to the wooden floor.
"Please," he said, voice low and unwavering. "Just give me one last chance. Two years—give me two years, and I'll prove myself. If I can't show results by then, I promise I'll give up this path and work the fields with you. But I beg you… just two years."
His mother and father exchanged glances, both sighing with a mixture of resignation and concern.
With a heavy heart, his father walked over, gently lifting Santoryu up from the floor.
"You really leave me no choice when you do this," he said, his voice softer now. "Fine. I'll give you those two years. But know this—I'll only support your decision to become a ninja if the young clan head, Hatake Kakashi himself, acknowledges your strength."
A spark of determination flashed in Santoryu's eyes. He straightened his back and said with conviction, "I understand. I swear to you—I'll train harder than ever. I'll become strong enough that even Lord Kakashi will recognize my strength."
Santoryu's father gave a firm nod. His mother gently placed a hand on his head, her eyes soft with warmth.
"I believe in you, my son," she said with quiet confidence.
After the touching moment passed, Santoryu spoke. "Father, do we have a good wooden log? A thick one?"
His father shook his head. "No. Why? What do you need it for?"
"I want to make practice swords for myself," Santoryu replied. "Could you give me some money to buy a good wooden log?"
His father nodded. "Alright. Wait here—I'll get some money." Now that he had promised to support his son, he was committed to doing everything he could to help.
Just as his father turned to leave, Santoryu added, "I'll also need to buy a few herbs to help with my training. Since I'll be doing intensive physical work, they'll be necessary to keep my body in top shape."
His father raised an eyebrow. "Do you know what you're doing? Are those herbs even safe?"
Santoryu nodded with a confident expression. "Don't worry, Father. I read about them in a reliable book at the Ninja Academy library. They're definitely authentic."
Of course, that was a lie—but it was the most reasonable explanation he could give. He didn't want his parents to worry about him using potentially harmful herbs provided by the system.
His father believed him without question. After all, if it came from the Ninja Academy's library, it had to be trustworthy—and he trusted his son not to be reckless.
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